“I felt there was no point in telling anyone anything that was happening inside me.”
— Christa Wolf, tr. by Jan van Heurck, from “Cassandra: A Novel & Four Essays,”
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“I felt there was no point in telling anyone anything that was happening inside me.”
— Christa Wolf, tr. by Jan van Heurck, from “Cassandra: A Novel & Four Essays,”
fuck ur dream girl lemme be ur nightmare girl
the horrors persist but so do books, art, hot chocolate, winter nights, the moon, the sea, the stars, sunsets, literature, libraries, cats, flowers, stories, love and the wistful feeling you get when you finally return home
I want to leave, go to some place where I will be really in my own niche, where I will fit in… But my place is nowhere;
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea (originally published in 1938)
he's so cute. i just want to bite him. and bite him. bite him again. bite him. bite him. bite him. let me sink my teeth on him.
Georges Bataille, Erotism: Death and Sensuality
"I asked Chat GPT" — well, I asked Mother Nature and she said your brain and soul are rotting inside of you.
If I could do girlhood again, I’d ask
to be scarier. Less whimpering—more pyromaniac
urges, more flirting with kerosene.
— Sally Wen Mao, from “Drop-kick Aria,” Mad Honey Symposium
Adonis, ‘Body’, Selected Poems (trans. Khaled Mattawa)
[Text ID: “and in my arteries a streak of madness”]
…the mortuary of my heart,
Anne Sexton, 45 Mercy Street; from 'The Break Away'
“What a relief: I am never where others think they can find me and seize me.”
— Laure, trans. by Jeanine Herman, from The Collected Writings: “Correspondence”
Emily Berry, from Ghosts (Homage to Burial).
“I burn, consumed; and resurrect, half-slain.”
— Vita Sackville-West, from “Solitude,” published c. January 1938
“If pain can purify the heart, mine will be pure.”
— Mary Shelley, from “Mathilda,” originally published c. October 1812